


With Nothing Between Us

by findinghiddenisles



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, F/M, Foreplay, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findinghiddenisles/pseuds/findinghiddenisles
Summary: Christine's feelings for Erik catch up to her, she decides to act on them. Smut with plot. LEROUX fic
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 34
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

Christine reflected on those weeks with Erik beneath the Opera House. She had to, for if she didn’t, she knew she would go mad.There was something there. It was like an itch she could not scratch or a dread she could not escape.

For as right as leaving Erik felt then, it felt just as wrong to be marrying Raoul now. She saw him as a brother...she had said so to herself so long ago...so why was she marrying him?

She missed the music, the passion, the fulfillment of just being with Erik. Raoul was warm at the surface, but somehow she felt like their relationship was...hollow. Stable, sturdy, but with nothing inside. He worried too much about society and she was experienced enough to know better. She wondered what a life with Erik would have been like.

But, Erik scared her. He made her feel uncertain during his fits of madness. How could she look past that? She understood what happened...why he reacted the way he had. True, he had never harmed her. But, the sadness, the loneliness, the desperation, and then the acceptance she saw in his eyes during their parting kiss made her stall. Erik had, unknowingly, planted a seedling of doubt within her heart. One that pulled her toward him.

Maybe, one that had been there all along.

Erik’s behavior with Raoul and Nadir with the torture chamber were _reactions_ to his losing her. Something in her told her that he just wanted a chance to prove himself and that he never could with Raoul in the way. Would things have gone different between them if Raoul had never returned? Would he have even revealed himself?

_That monster is a villain. He deserves to be left by himself in those tombs._

Christine cringed at Raoul’s words. She hesitantly warned him to please not bring him up again. It had been weeks. Wasn’t her presence beside him enough to cease his jealousy?

That was the first seed of doubt that was planted within her when it came to Raoul. Well....the first after deciding to marry him. The first came when he assumed she was a prostitute after seeing her in the carriage with Erik. She had calmly ignored it in order to protect Raoul, but it had angered her ferociously when she thought about it afterwards.

Christine stared out the window. She would be wed this time next week. She had seen the church they would be married in. The house they would live in. The dress they designed for her to wear. At least, she liked the dress Erik had made for her.

She stared at the dresser where the rings her father had given her sat.

They were for decoration now as Raoul had refused to wear them. He said... _You are a Vicomtess now. We will have better rings made to suit your beauty, and our place in society._

Would Erik have brushed aside something of such great importance to her if they were to be married?

_He cried when you kissed his forehead, he’d probably be beside himself in gratitude if you had given them to him._

Christine paused at the thought that crossed her mind. Her body going rigid and eyes wide as if the furniture in her room had begun to levitate. With that, the answer she had been denying herself metaphorically sat beside her, punched her in the face and then left on the breeze through her open window.

She packed up her father’s violin, hiding a few personal items in the back case and shrugged on her cloak. If any of the housemaids asked, she was going down the paths on the estate to practice the violin. It was the only music she was allowed, anyway. Raoul considered the people of the Opera only a step above harlots. So, to even consider her continuing to sing publicly in any form was beyond imagination.

Hopefully, the letter under his engagement ring was simple enough for him to get the message. She wasn’t stupid enough to mention Erik. She had merely lied and said she had traveled to London for a singing opportunity and that she could not live in the role he needed her to. Christine had wondered, comedically, for a moment if God would strike her down for lying. She shook it off and decided that if God could allow the suffering that Erik had gone through then he would most certainly tolerate a white lie that would keep her safe. Christine did not look back as she walked away from the estate. A strange giddiness filling her.

☾ ☾ ☾

When she found Erik, he was lying in his coffin. Her heart stopped in that moment and the weight of that sight brought her to her knees. She was too late.

The force of everything she was feeling forced her to stumble to its edge and touch him.

He wasn't dead...yet. He was alive, breathing shallowly. He smelled...clean though and his suit was fresh. The little hair he had combed back away from his face.

Had he been waiting to die?

Christine crawled into the coffin on the impulse of her thoughts and raised his torso to her own, cradling him. His black mask, the mouthless one she favored, had been in his hands, crossed over his chest. It had fallen in their movement. His arms limp at his sides and his head bobbing gracelessly onto her shoulder.

Tears began to stream down her face. She hated this. Hated all of it. Why couldn’t they have just learned about each other in time, without pressure? Why couldn’t they have been afforded that? An anger, a hatred, a knot of unfulfilled dreams tore through her like the glaciers she once saw as a child.

A hatred of herself for reacting so negatively to his face. An anger at him for not to talking to her plainly, for Raoul for inteferfering. All of it.

She rocked him slightly in her misery. Her mind was flooded with vines of thoughts that tangled and wound around each other like snakes. It made her feel as though her eyes were being pushed out of her skull from the pressure within her head. What could she do? What had Erik done to be in this state?

Erik’s name was an underlying chant beneath the thoughts, the very fuel for that growing mass of discorancy in her head.

His skin appeared paler than normal, almost translucent, and the normal heat that seemed to be absent everywhere but his face was nonexistent. His skin was dry where it was usually soft. She held his face with her left hand, feeling his quick but shallow breaths on her face. His eyes, as sunken as they were, appeared even more so. His pulse rapid despite his sedateness.

He was dehydrated. A lesson from her father painted a cure across her hands and began to comb away the tangles in her head. She reached for the little canister of water she brought with her. Thankful, for having filled it before she descended into the catacombs. She brought it carefully to his lips letting the droplets slip gently into his mouth. The touch of liquid to his tongue caused him to move slightly, and cradling him closer to her chest, she allowed more water to fall between his dry lips. She rubbed her thumb over his jaw, trying to coax life into him. When more water moved over his lips, his mouth opened ever so slightly more.

This went on for a long time, several hours, with Christine settling him down gently and rushing between the faucets to get back to him. When Erik’s eyes flickered open for the first time, Christine felt as though flowers bloomed from the vines in her head. Uncontrolled tears sprang forth at the calm, awed gaze that shone over his golden eyes. He tried to lift his hand to her but he didn't have the strength. Letting out a broken sob, she pulled his long graceful hands to her face, shaking, as his skin touched her cheek. A weak smile lifted his lips, but his eyes never left her own as she held him to her.

As much as she wanted to remain gazing at his open eyes, she knew he still needed to heal, and proceeded with slow slips of water. When she brought the bottle to his lips again, he drank steadily. Between sips, she listened to his heartbeat and noticed it calm. When he seemed to not want anymore for the moment, she brought her other hand to his face again and watched as his eyes closed slowly before opening again. They had not spoken any words but the wealth of communication in meeting the other’s eyes filled more space and built more hope than a lifetime of speeches ever could.

Erik now had the strength to at least wrap his hand around her own where she held it on his waist. She gently entwined their fingers and noticed his pupils dilate as he took her in. It was a gift to feel his fingers move against hers with uncertainty. Christine smiled softly at him and massaged his neck where she cradled his head. She felt more than heard the soft moan that escaped his lips as he arched delicately into her fingers. A small heat bloomed in her at his agile movements. She continued moving her fingers against his neck softly. Anything, if it would make him better.

With a sad thought, she noticed how dry his lips were; slightly cracked and too close to bleeding. It was such an uncomfortable feeling, she knew, from the winters traveling with her father. She cursed herself for forgetting her balm, for having forgotten the rich salve atop her vanity at the DeChangy estate. It would be thrown away when Erik could so well use it.

A thought bloomed within her heart and she realized that the balm still lay thick across her own lips. He was still watching her with such amazement and love. She had never seen such light in Raoul’s eyes. Erik filled her heart and warmed her soul more so than anything in her life. What would she not do for him?

She gently rubbed her fingers over his before tilting his head slightly and very slowly letting her lips descend onto his. She felt him stiffen at the contact. He relaxed only when she gently rubbed her lips over his, letting the salve slip between the ravines in his wounded flesh. He gently kissed back after a moment, letting their lips glide over the other. His short sucking kisses were appeasing in a way she never considered.

His mouth was wet. She was happy to feel…. happy to feel him grip her fingers as their movements aligned to the same silent rhythm.

She pulled away after a moment more, wanting to continue kissing him, but not wanting to leech the strength she knew he needed to get better. He followed her slightly and she smiled at him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead once more. His expression of adoration only intensified and she knew by the sheen over his beautiful eyes that if it was not for his state he would be crying.

His mouth opened slightly and she untwined their hands to lift the water to his mouth, careful not to disturb the salve on his lips. He drank it, lifting his head for more and gulping audibly. As she leaned around to place it against the coffin’s side, she heard the soft croak of her name. Christine whipped around. She watched carefully as he lifted his arm. He clumsily cradled her hand where it rested on his abdomen; his fingers actively moving over hers to entwine them.

She smiled brightly at the weak sound of her name, pulling him closer to her and nuzzling against his cheek to hide her tears as she murmured his own name into his ear. There was no space between them at that moment and nothing more needed to be said for the time being.

He felt less on the brink of death and more tired as he leaned his head in the crook of her neck. Christine still cradled him, leaning against the cushioned side of the elaborate coffin. He would need to eat something soon. She would have to bathe him, dress him, take care of him as he gained his strength back. Where would they be then? _WHAT_ would they be then?

Erik had taken care of her when she was lost and alone. He had lifted her soul back to life. Could she be what he needed? Could she care for him as intensely as he did her?

Christine considered that thought for a moment before realizing that her doubts stemmed from the character she had been forced to play. The quiet, shy, meak girl. It was not how she felt inside. She wanted to be free to perform, to act on her thoughts, to thrive without the constant pressure of denying her happiness...and if she had to pick anyone in her life to do that with, it had to be Erik. It would only be Erik. They would have to learn to leave behind the tenants of their upbringing in order to trust in themselves and in order for them to truly love each other.

She thought of the question she had once asked herself. Would Erik have ever revealed himself if Raoul had never become involved?

That answer was no...she wholly believed. Erik would never have revealed himself. He would have selflessly devoted his time, too ashamed of his own appearance to ever try to take her away from her life.

She stared down at him, enamored with the view of his slightly parted lips where his face was hidden against her neck. She wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not but the slight warmth emanating from him was like an ember of hope. She pulled him tighter to her, settling in against the plush coffin.

They would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) mature next chapter. I had to introduce the story and didn't want to overwhelm the reader with 20+ pages worth of material.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe some smut. this turned out bigger than I originally thought. the more the merrier?

☾ ☾ ☾

Erik nestled against her, his long legs shifting slightly as an unsteady breath left him. His movement brought her out of her doze and she peered down at his lower half. He was pristine: pressed pants, shined shoes, the faintest peak at his sock garters where his pants had ridden up. She stifled a giggle at how endearing she found that little slip in Erik’s facade.

Christine’s head cocked slightly as she wondered if his shoes might be making his ankles settle uncomfortably. She set Erik gently down against his pillow, a small whimper leaving his mouth at the loss of her warmth. She moved forward, bending his knee and removing his shoes; tossing them gently beside the raised coffin. 

His hand had fallen at her back, moving ever so hesitantly as she adjusted his lower half. 

“Christine….” His fingers held an errant curl. Her flaxen hair had been down for hours now. She hadn’t noticed. 

“Erik, how are you feeling?” Christine leaned on her side beside him, gazing down at his broken visage. She wanted to touch him. But, now that he seemed to be more coherent she worried he would flinch away from her. 

“Erik feels tired… ” He coughed slightly, attempting to get the lump out of his throat before continuing, “...and sore.”

The once ethereal voice was now raw and curling like the crunch of wet sand. She had always waited on bated breath for the sound of his voice, she realized. It was a feeling of loss to hear it this way. 

“That is because you were at death’s door with dehydration, Angel.” 

“Erik is not an angel. Erik is….” His eyes dropped from hers to the curl in his hand. 

She interrupted him by pushing a few strands of hair away from his face, checking his temperature. Erik always had cool skin and the bald expanse of his head and forehead were no exception. He didn’t have a fever, thankfully. But, she could tell she startled him. 

“Erik is alive. That’s all that matters.” She continued checking his skin for a fever or maybe it was just an excuse to touch him….to ingrain into her skin that he was still alive. 

“Why is Christine here? Why did she return to Erik’s home?” The look in his eyes, like that of a child, unsettled Christine. This look usually meant that he was pushing to follow whatever train of thought he had in his mind. 

Erik stared into Christine’s eyes. She had to look away from that intense stare. If he looked for too long, he might misconstrued whatever he thought he saw. To be fair, Christine isn’t sure what to tell Erik. She didn’t want to tell him, _Oh! Raoul had not been treating me right so I decided to leave him and come back._ She did not wish to make him feel like he was a last resort or a second choice because he wasn’t. This choice made sense to her. It just took time on her own to sort out what _she_ wanted. Although, Raoul’s behavior certainly was a push in the right direction. 

“Did you come to return Erik’s ring?” He wheezed out before letting out a pained grunt. His hand went to the space below his belly button. 

Christine used her alarm to ignore his question. She did come to return the ring. But, it adorned her finger and that was where she intended to keep it. 

Christine gasped. “What’s wrong?” She placed her hand over Erik’s. He ignored her and tried to sit up but she curled her hand under his neck and slowly helped him rise to sit. He tried to stand himself, but he was unsteady. 

“Erik! Stop! What do you need?” A firm hold to his hand stopped his attempts at moving and a weary expression crossed his sunken face.

“Erik believes he is in need of the lavatory.” 

Christine let out a small, ‘oh!’. She was only slightly incensed at Erik not telling her.

“Let me help you out of the coffin, then.” Christine smiled at herself, trying to stifle the bubbling laughter at the thought that such a sentence seemed normal to her. 

☾ ☾ ☾

Christine supported Erik’s weight with an arm around his waist with the other around his shoulder. His legs were weak and ached, he had stated. But, his balance was fine. He just needed help walking. Christine wondered why the dehydration caused his muscles to behave in such a way. But, pushed the thought away til a time where she could pursue Erik’s medical books. 

As they walked, Christine considered why she wanted to wait to discuss the ring. She had no problems admitting her feelings for him. She was proud to love him. She just wanted to discuss at a time when she felt Erik was truly listening to her. She worried he wouldn’t believe her. 

Christine led him towards the sink before Erik stopped her. There were too many thoughts in his head and all about Christine. He was dizzy but not due to weakness, but due to his inability to believe he was not in some deathly hallucination. 

“Do you need any more help from he--?” Erik cut her off. The voice of the Phantom dribbling out. 

“No, Erik can handle himself from here.” 

“I’ll be just outside. If you need anything.” She kissed his cheek softly before pulling away from him, shutting the door. Erik gazed at the door for a moment, leaning heavily against the sink, memorizing the feel of Christine's lips against his decrepit face. 

She looked around the room. The one he had given her. She went about tidying, dusting, keeping herself occupied. After all that, she moved to the vanity to fix her hair. The silence from the bathroom had concerned her and she would often pause to listen for him, til she heard the sound of running water. 

_Oh! He’s running a bath for himself! He must be feeling better._ Christine delighted in the thought, and went on fixing her hair. 

As she placed the pin to lift her hair up, there was a loud crash and the sound of metal against porcelain. Without a thought, Christine rushed towards the bathroom, throwing the door open as Erik released a guttural scream. 

“Don’t come in here!” Erik yelled, the impact of his voice causing her to stop dead in her tracks. 

“Erik! Are you alright? I am not looking.” She spoke softly, covering her eyes and turning her torso away from. A long pause issued forth. Christine didn't realize she was holding her breath. 

“Erik is fine. Thank you. Christine can go.” His voice was shaky, but impactful. She could hear how hard he was breathing.

“You are not fine, you are breathing as if you just ascended the Alps. I am here to help, Erik.” Christine’s ire rose at his attempt to use the Phantom’s voice on her when he was in this state. She was there to help. She reminded herself that Erik was just trying to protect himself from more pain and therefore calmed as she uttered her last statement. A moment passed and Christine focused intently on the patterns of emerald tiles on the walls and floor. A shaky sigh left Erik….

“Erik needs your help, Christine.” 

“I promise not to look anymore than I have to.” As she turned around, she tried to hide the sharp intake of breath. Erik’s long gaunt figure stood before her as he leaned unsteadily against the side of the tub. A thin towel wrapped loosely around his hips. She always imagined Erik’s figure to look extremely skeletal with exposed ribs and the like. But, the man before her was just… thin. A slight concave inward over the expanse of his belly. The faintest hint of bone on his ribcage, the steady ‘v’ shape towards his groin. But, his arms and thighs were slightly curved with muscle. 

That same metaphorical brick which had caused her to leave the estate slammed into her again. Of course, Erik would have a wiry strength about him. He would run the Opera House as if it were his playground, moving about silently like a stalking cat. She felt guilty for imagining him to be more odd in appearance than he actually was. 

She could tell by the slight sting on her cheeks that she was blushing as she approached him. He looked at her, oddly enough, not avoiding eye contact. But, the apprehension in his eyes made her wonder if he was waiting for her to recoil. 

She walked up to him, not looking down and leaned against his side, bringing his weight onto her frame. She guided him into the tub allowing him to use her for balance as he stepped in. 

He clutched at the towel on his hips the entire time, forbidding it from slipping. Erik was beyond mortified at having Christine see him in such a state. It had been days since he bathed, lying in the coffin as he had been. 

Erik could barely smell anything. He found it even more abhorrent to think he smelled as he looked….like death. He would never see Christine without bathing, would scrub himself red and raw to make sure there was little possibility that he smelled as he feared he did. How was she not recoiling from him? 

As Christine settled him into the water, she saw the maze of scars which lined his body. She knew that he had led a difficult life, but never to this extent. They looked like….lash marks.

The scars were irritated, cracked and she worried that they were causing him pain. The skin gave the illusion of sensitivity. Was it an illusion at all? 

She gently leaned him back against the high tub, settling a folded towel under his neck. 

“Erik, are your scars hurting you? They look irritated.” She questioned. She wore her concern on her face. 

Erik’s head lolled and he looked unfocused. But, he gave a small grunt when she grazed her fingertips over a healed gash on his shoulder. 

“Yes, there is salve in the drawer behind you, placing it in the water will suffice.” 

She wanted to bathe him, to sooth the irritated flesh over his bones with the cooling moisture of the salve and the warm water. It hurt her to know he was in pain. She returned with the salve, clutching it in her hand as she knelt on a towel beside the tub. She let the water run; the salve melting in.

“Erik, will you let me tend your wounds?” Erik had been looking away from her and she gently cupped his bare face in her hands. He looked at her as if he were lost, his mouth slightly parted. 

He wanted to deny her, to question why she would want to touch his horrible body or look upon his wretched face. But, could not find the will: not when he felt so warm, so tired. 

“Only if Christine wishes so, Erik….would never expect it of her.” He felt lightheaded, too, he realized. But, refused to admit that to Christine. She should never feel obligated to him. She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead softly. 

Erik’s mind reeled as she placed his head back on the towel behind him. He kept his eyes closed. The warm water...while it soothed his skin did not help his head. Christine noticed and checked her pocket. 

“Erik, here, eat this. It’ll make you feel less dizzy.” Christine pulled out a sweet candy from her skirts. She had dumped a bag of the wrapped sugar into her pockets as she left the De Changy house. They hardly partook in them, so why not take what she enjoyed? She was glad her first act of thievery was rewarded. Erik’s hand moved slowly out of the water. But, she stopped him, unraveling the wrapping and gently holding it to his lips. His droopy sunken eyes focused on her hand. She pulled away, blushing at the intoxicating notion of feeding the man she cared for. Erik decided the blush on her cheeks was that from the rising steam. However, the touch of her fingers to his lips drove the blood from his head to the thickening member between his legs. This could not bode well….

Christine soaked the soft fabric in her hand with the salve, warming it with the water before soothing over his fragile skin. Erik had always smelled of verbena and ink. She smiled to herself. Now, she knew where it came from. She had always associated her angel of music with the soft violet flower. The scent always lingered in the air when he was near. It was one of the factors that contributed to her realization that her beloved maestro was also the infamous Phantom. 

She gently started with his shoulders and neck. A repetitive motion over all his scars. To moisten the skin, she’d pour warm water over him, then gently rub the salve in with her fingers before cleansing the area around it. She watched his face, watched his breathing, his closed eyes. Erik’s face appeared carved out of marble sometimes, even if he had no nose and his eyes were sunken in. The curved arch of his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his jaw, the faded lines of his unnatural skin. He had his own odd beauty to him. 

She raised his right arm out of the water after finishing his left. Erik had kept his eyes shut, the entire time, willing his growing arousal away. With every graceful stroke of her fingertips, the little energy he had flooded his body and focused on his hardening arousal. The swirling water and motions did little to curb it. He felt too good, too relaxed. Maybe, if Christine saw the evidence of his physical desire for her, her shrill scream of horror would wake him from this nightmare. Maybe, this was his hell? To have Christine pretend to care for him only to reject him over and over for the rest of eternity? 

She massaged the salve into the tendons over his arms, massaging extra care into his long beautiful hands. She wanted to kiss them, those wonderful hands. But, decided against it. Would that be too brazen of her? Would Erik fault her for it? 

Erik peaked his eyes open to watch her fondly caress his hand, his wrists, a soft smile on her face. Christine lifted her eyes, surprised to find Erik staring at her. A sad expression over his features.

“I’ve always associated the scent of verbena with you. I knew my ‘angel of music’ was nearby when I’d smell the little violet flower. It always lingered in the passageways of the Opera as well.” She smiled at him softly, and lifted his knuckles to her lips, placing a soft kiss upon his skin. His fingers flexed against hers, and she moved the washcloth to his chest. The scar over the collarbone nearest to her was deep and she rubbed the salve in delicately. 

Erik was trying to find a foot to balance on, to absorb the sight of Christine kissing his hand. The soft smile that illuminated her face when she spoke of him, her angel of music. Was he still that? Did Erik still deserve such a title? 

“Erik is not your Angel of Music, Christine. He has not been for a long time, if ever. He does not deserve such a title….or your kindness.” He pulled his hand away from her, letting it disappear into the milky water.

“Don’t say that! You did so much for me, Erik. I am here now, everything will be alright.” He looked down at her lips, they glistened from the steam in the room and she looked so beautiful. Her small pout filling her face with something he had never seen before. 

Christine’s eyes followed him to her lips and she leaned in to meet him. Erik closed his eyes, holding her hand to his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to imprint his ugliness onto her skin as a warning or to just memorize her touch for when she left. The soft press of her bottom lip between his was like tasting something decadent. He tilted his head to chase her softness, and he reveled in the little moan that escaped her lips. Her other hand moved to the side of his neck, rubbing at his jaw. 

This was a kiss….like the ones she had read about or heard about. His lips were rough. She could feel the bumps where the skin had lifted. It was a stimulating sensation. A friction built where they touched and the soft grace of his tongue as their mouths opened against each other had her cupping the back of his head as he chased her lips. He was clumsy but a quick learner and she loved him all the more for it.

Erik felt he was in heaven. This was not something he deserved; not for all the wretched things he’s done, not for existing with his ugliness. His half-hard member rose between his legs and with every stroke of her hand over his chest and skull did it rise. Gods, hot water had never felt so good. 

He did not expect his wonderful Christine to be so ravenous. She was both chasing and relenting in their kiss. Her soft little moans and whimpers were exhilarating and it filled his body with an anxious energy. He gasped as her hands moved lower. Her palms accidentally touched his risen member as she trailed her fingertips over his lower belly beneath the edge of the water. 

Christine did not plan for her caring for him to move in this direction but….she could not say she was unhappy for it. She felt his arousal briefly against her palm, continuing to kiss him, moving her kisses to his jaw and neck as she drifted lower. He let out a moan and a soft whisper of her name and she was drunk on it. A writhing force curled from between her legs all the way up her sternum to wrap around her heart. She wanted to pleasure him, but how would she? Would he teach her what he liked? 

Christine gathered her courage, sucking softly at his neck, his back arching as she dragged her fingertips over the curved length of his manhood. Erik eye’s opened to see Christine’s wistful expression as she kissed his jaw, and fondled him, but tension rose over his spine. He had tried to fight it when he began kissing her back but it became too much. The panic filling him. 

“Christine. Stop, please!” Christine wrenched her hand away, pulling her mouth away from his neck. 

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Worry filled her expression and it filled Erik with pain. This wasn’t her fault. He wanted her touch, consented to it, but that rush of panic....he just couldn't ignore it.

How could he tell her that it was too much? That he couldn’t enjoy her touching him without the thought that pain would soon follow? Like it always had when he was touched? He was still waiting to realize this was just another form of torture….

Had she forced him? Did she make him feel pressured? Panic flooded her. She never wanted to hurt Erik!

“Erik can’t, Christine. He doesn't think you should be here now. Erik believes you should be taking care of your Vicomte.” He turned his head away, digging for the towel in the water, growing increasingly frustrated as it evaded his reach. Christine pitied him. Her open heart and kindness was the only reason she was here. Nadir must have told her of his plans to die. That had to be it. His insecurities spoke louder than his rationale, which warned him that Christine would not martyr herself so easily. 

“You always took care of me. Why can I not take care of you?” Christine whispered, her hand in her lap, looking away from him at the floor. 

“Christine, please, Erik did not take care of Christine in a similar fashion as she is attempting now.” Erik grappled with logic. What was swimming in those eyes of hers? The ones that carried the ocean wherever they went? 

“Did you not want to?” She breathed out, hesitantly. A self-conscious expression filling her cheeks.

She pulled back. Her face deflated. True, Erik had never shown any interest in a sexual relationship with her. But, she had assumed because of his declarations of….love and devotion and desire for marriage that he did want her. Did he want her as a man wanted a woman? Had she read him wrong? Had she forced him now? 

In a small whisper, his voice floated through the air. The humidity finally returned him the gift of his dulcet tones. 

“Erik would never wish to taint Christine’s body with his own. She deserves better than that.” 

She leaned closer to him, resting her forehead against his while her towel filled hand rested against his shoulder.

“I don’t feel that way, Erik. I don’t….” She pulled back slightly and was surprised with the fact that she was unable to read his expression. But, he didn't answer her question... _did_ he want to? 

The bravery that had filled her chest melted into her veins and flowed like blood away from her heart. This was probably Erik’s way of turning her down. She realized. She had tried to show him she cared for him, but….

“I’m sorry for pushing you. I didn’t mean to….” A pregnant pause filled the space between them. “Do you still wish for me to finish treating you?” Erik nodded meekly and kept silent. 

She stayed away from sensitive areas, adding more of the medicated lotion to the scars irritated by his dry skin. She warned him she would be rubbing the salve over a large scar on his lower belly and he nodded silently. She didn’t linger, did her work diligently as she moved up his chest. 

He couldn’t understand the expression of panic that flooded her when she asked him if he wanted her. 

Erik loved Christine desperately. He wanted her above anything the gods could conjure up. But, to believe she wanted him was impossible. He could not have his Christine, could not thrust into her body with his own, seeking nothing but to see desire and pleasure flood her beautiful face as she cried out his name. 

He was a gangly, deformed man with no color to his cheeks. He had no facial hair or full curls. He was not Raoul or any of the other men he had seen pay Christine attention. True, she paid him more attention than them. But, had he not forced his presence on her….even if it was through the mirror? 

Yes, she was a woman made of the same earth as he was. But, her beauty was that of no being on earth and her soul….no, that was something far more pure. How could she stand to consider having his bare flesh near hers? 

She hadn’t noticed but with her sleeves rolled up, hair in a fallen coiffure, and her head tilted in her work….Erik thought she had never looked more enchanting. Like a fairy queen gifted to the earth. 

She was far more hesitant with her touches, now. She wasn’t lingering as she did before. Erik was mentally beating himself up for saying anything, for not following his emotions. She was still kind and tender. But, they were not the deep wandering touches she had graced him with before. He had never felt more loved in that moment. But, his body was betraying him. 

The water’s gentle flow as she massaged the medicine into all his scars flowed deliciously over his ever-increasing arousal. Apparently, even his being on the brink of death only a day before could not stop his body from responding to the object of his abhorrent affections touching him. 

Christine seemed to not know the depth of depravity with which he desired her. How often he would have to hide his yearning from her when she was with him. How many times he went to bed painfully aroused, refusing to allow himself to find pleasure at thoughts of touching her. He just couldn’t imagine….he couldn’t imagine her actually ever looking upon him with desire. 

This battle. This war inside him did little to ease his arousal. She was watching his skin, looking at his body as if he were just a man. He wondered if he should move his arm to hold it down but knew that any added sensation would only make it worse. He did not want to ever consider the possibility of standing when all his blood had rushed south. 

To his horror, his arousal became visible again, peeking slightly above the milky water. He tensed and tried to push his hips deeper into the pool around him.

Christine must have noticed for she paused in her ministrations to a scar on his shoulder. He dared a glance at her. His body rigid as a board. Her plush lips were slightly parted and a sad expression filled her face as she stared at his back. 

“Christine, Erik is sor--” He did not finish the sentence before she interrupted him, her hand reaching out to him before stopping. 

“It is alright, Erik. Let’s get you out.” 

With a towel in hand, Christine carefully dried his shoulders, his sides, his chest, neck and face. He knew they were deliberate punctuated movements mean to illicit little to no reaction. It did no good. Christine leaned over the tub to wrap herself around him so that she could support his weight as he rose. The touch of her skin to his, of her hair tickling his exposed nasal cavity, a whimper escaped him. She stopped as his hands wrapped around her upper arms. 

“Christine….please.” 

She pulled back and met his eyes and Erik moaned at the drag of her skin against his. She settled him back into the tub, her face inches from his and he couldn't help but chase her lips as she began to pull away from him. His hands on her arms stopped her from moving away. 

Christine was shocked at his kissing her. Erik was a shy man who hardly ever did such things. But, she reveled in his kiss. She leaned forward more and returned his touch. This kiss wasn’t as hesitant as their first, or as quick as their second. This was a real kiss that conveyed the desire for the other flooding through them. 

He pulled her hands to his body and she reveled in his permission. He did want her! 

"Oh Erik..." she murmured into his mouth. Christine let her hands wander over his chest, moaning slightly as he tilted his head and let his tongue slide over her bottom lip. 

When Raoul had first attempted such a thing with her, she jumped and ended the kiss. The same with every attempt of his afterwards. 

But, when she felt Erik’s hesitant touch, his request to enter her mouth, she happily obliged, allowing her own tongue to slide over his. 

Erik groaned at her sounds, the sounds of their kiss and the way her hands roamed over his pectoral. He was erect, he knew, but the rush of arousal that flooded him when she let out a little mewl as he sucked at her tongue made it almost painful. He bucked into the water to relieve the ache and felt as Christine’s hand began to wander before slipping into the water, taking him into her hand. He broke the kiss with a cry, clutching at her upper arms and curling around her shoulders before hiding his face in her neck. 

“Chrstine, Christine, my Christine….” His cries of her name spurred her on and the ache between her legs deepened with every syllable. She gently tugged at him, letting her fingers follow the movements of his hips in the water, tightening over his length from base to tip. 

She was glad she had not shied away from Sorielli’s more….detailed discussions. She had played the innocent, the saint, the Mary, but had been as curious as all the other girls. And, now, she knew how to pleasure him. At least, the basics. For she watched carefully at what exactly Erik liked. He enjoyed pressure over her speed, consistency over an erratic rhythm. She smiled to herself at the thought that Erik’s pleasure matched the same style as his music. Intensity over tempo. Long winding rhythms over glamorous crescendos. She let her hands move over the soft orbs below his erection, massaging over them. She fondled the weight in her hands, watching as Erik grunted and panted as she did so. She felt her clit twitch between her thighs as his legs separated to make room for her hands.

“Christine. Ah! Please, so good, Christine, so perfect. Please.” He cried out into her neck, his hands moving over her arms and shoulders. Erik gasped as she tightened her hand over his erection again. She kissed the side of his face as she moved over the smooth skin, rubbing over the soft head, and down to the base which bulged slightly beneath her fingers. She was intrigued by the veins she felt over his curved length and the heavy masses beneath it. His breathing became erratic and deep. His moans ricocheted around the room and through her. She pulled back to find his lips again, the lack of stimulation causing her to ache, just as well. 

Erik was reeling, the throbbing in his loins was driving him mad and knowing it was Christine giving him pleasure was above words. Her soft little hands pulling at him over and over again was an experience he never thought he would have. It was hedonistic and erotic and gods, he wanted to reach all of her. A tightening pull over his length and liquid fire filled his muscles and released into the already milky water. He moaned into the kiss, her name a prayer on his lips. 

Christine felt as his entire body tightened. The sounds of his pleasure as he reached his climax was one of the most exciting moments of her life and she longed to know his body more.

 _What would it be like when he touched me?_ She thought and released him into the water with one more gentle swipe over the sensitive head. She absentmindedly rubbed her legs together, the pooling wetness there hard to ignore.

His hand curled around her cheeks and she kissed his palm, holding his wrists while rubbing at his veins. She nuzzled against him kissing the hollow beneath his eyes and the nub at his broken nose bridge. 

Tears fell from his gilded eyes and she wiped them away from the gaunt lines of his face. 

“Christine, you are too good to your Erik. How Erik loves you. He does not deserve you.” He rubbed his thumbs over her rounded cheeks, flushed with desire, her eyes blown wide with arousal.

“Don’t say that, please. It’s not true. I love you, Erik.” Tears gathered at her own eyes, and he wiped them away, awe coloring his expression. 

“You love...Erik?” 

A sob escaped her and she placed her forehead against his, their hands enfolding against her face. She nodded against him, breathing him in. 

“It is all Erik has ever wanted….to be loved for himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come ;>


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UH MORE SMUT?

Christine knelt against the tub and met his lips with a soft kiss.

The ache in her core had simmered but not disappeared. A very odd desire to climb into the tub, clothes and all, and feel Erik wrap his arms around her overwhelmed her. She felt the need to whine and the thought drove her mad! She was not ignorant to what arousal was, at least logistically, but she had never felt it so acutely.

The water was growing cold, she realized, the warmth in the small room dissipating. It would not do for Erik to get sick so soon after being so close to death, she thought. She handed him a dry towel to hold against himself as she helped him rise, trying her best not to look.

Christine pulled his robe over his shoulders, tying it at his waist from behind, before helping him out of the tub. Erik’s mind reeled from the aftermath of their moment together and her dressing him. She had her arms pressed around him like a lover as she tied his sash. He committed the moment to memory. He prayed for his strength to return, so, if he were allowed, he could stand and hold her to him, lacing his fingers in her hair. How he longed for such a moment between them….

Christine led him back into his room, setting him down in a chair as she gathered clothes for him, setting them on the bench beneath his organ. 

Christine gazed at him when he wasn’t looking. She, quite frankly, couldn’t help herself. At the beginning, her first instinct was to cringe at his face. She had always felt guilty, not a second after, disgusted with herself for feeling such a way about something that wasn’t his fault. But, that reaction had changed somewhere along the way. Now, she wanted to stare at him, to take him in, to trace the lines over his scalp and forehead and cheeks with her fingers. Logically, she knew his face was not handsome. But, she loved him, and through that she saw his charms. His face no longer bothered her. 

Erik, to be honest, felt quite tired. His body languid and sore. But, his mind, oh his mind was alive. His eyes felt clear and the music in his head had never flowed so strongly. Melodies spun from the fabric of her voice. Yet, there was a shadow that blanketed him. He was quite exposed and weak, still. He was without a mask. The cool breeze against his face was a reminder. _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Erik, the next time she sees that face she very well might change her mind._

He knew, now, that it wasn’t just his face that had pushed her away in the first place. It was his behavior. But, the ingrained awareness that his face was nothing but a horrid reminder of the monster he truly was, did not help. Erik curled in on himself at her approach, allowing his face to be cast in shadow.

She walked up to him, standing in front of his knees. “Erik, do you require my assistance getting dressed?” 

Erik fought the urge to stare up at her, or to reach for her skirts and press them to his face or haul her towards him so that he could rest his tired bones against her stomach….or better, between her breasts. 

He knew she had been teased for them, their size. Most ballerinas were much less endowed from years of binding and rigorous exercise. But, no, his Christine was full and beautiful. Would it be decent, even with her consent, to show her that he was fond of her shape despite others' contrary opinion? 

“Erik?” She tilted her head, touching his hand with her fingertips. Erik jumped at her touch, pulling the skeletal visage of his hand away. Ashamed, he was, at being caught lusting after her form. It was no fault of her own and he was horrid to do so.

“No, no, Erik will manage. There is no need.” 

Christine felt hurt at his shrugging her off. But, brushed it off to her startling him. 

“Call me when you are finished, so that I may take you to bed.” 

“To bed?” He questioned, still hiding his face as best he could as she stepped away from him

His love whipped around like a violent storm, a finger rising in indignation. “You! Are not sleeping in that coffin. Not while you are like this. I don’t need any more of those images.” Christine’s stern voice curled something both frightening and thrilling around Erik’s spine. It left him with no breath to deny her and so he nodded; quietly murmuring his understanding. 

☾ ☾ ☾

Christine returned to her room to give herself a light wash. She tried to stray away from the visceral images of Erik’s face in pleasure, his touch as he clutched at her arms and shoulders. But, they were burned into her cornea. She quickly bathed, stepping out of the bathroom into the cooling air. She hoped it would cool her ardor.

It didn't. 

She had lit the candles before stepping into the bath. Their warm light spread across the room like golden streams, glinting off the sage-colored satin sheets. The space seemed to glow when it was like this. It was the many things she loved about it; the ethereal calmness that eminanted from Erik’s home. 

Her mind returned to its place where it had left off earlier as she sat at her vanity and combed her hair. 

She had never felt desire so acutely.* She truly never thought she would. To be fair, she always associated love with an absence of desire. She thought that she loved Raoul all the more because she never had lascivious thoughts of him. 

She had experienced urges with Erik, though, several times. It would often be when she watched him play the piano, speak with his hands, and even far before when he would whisper to her through the mirror...calling her name softly as if drifting on fallen snowflakes. Yes, the other girls had experienced these feelings. But, even they, themselves, would often say that they did not love the men they were dallying with from the Opera. So, she just deduced that love was an absence of desire. Mama Valerious never discussed such things with her. Her Father died when she was too little for such a conversation and the Church never offered such a guide. 

She loved Erik AND desired his touch. Was that so wrong of her? Was physical desire not a response to love, as well? 

Christine realized her disillusionment and scoughed inwardly. True, her Christian teachings never did talk about female desire in a positive light. It was all….submission. Lilith was turned into a demon for refusal to do it, no? Or was that a Hebrew story she read in one of Erik's books?

Regardless, that didn’t sit right with Christine; submitting to the wills of the men around her had left her in far more dangerous situations than she liked to be in. She was done with that idea of not doing what she wanted just in case it _might_ be bad.

So, of course, physical desire was also a product of love.

She felt silly for ever thinking it wasn't. 

But, even Erik had stopped her when she was pursuing his kiss and touching him? What if he found her wanton? A coquette? For wanting the same thing from him? She didn’t want reciprocation for the sake of it. No! She wanted just to be shown that she was wanted by Erik, that _he wanted_ to touch her. 

Absent-mindedly, Christine set the silver brush into her lap and ran her hand over its bristles. A defeated attitude descended over her form, pressing in on her shoulders.. 

Erik never did answer her query in the bath. _Did you not want to?_ She still wondered if he wanted to touch her. Yes, he had allowed her to please him, even desired so, it seemed. But, didn’t that also mean he wanted to reciprocate? She didn’t think the two actions were one in the same.

Christine let out a shuddering breath and decided she was being selfish. Selfish, for worrying about her own doubts and insecurities at a time like this. She shoved her arousal down, ignoring it. He was still weak and this time was about him. They would discuss it later. It didn’t matter now. 

Perhaps, all his hesitation was because Erik still felt uncertain for her physical attraction to him? 

She dusted off her nightgown, smoothing down the skirts as if forcing away the tension between her legs and shook her hair out. She would make sure he healed fully, that he got a good night’s rest and in the morning she would cook him a large breakfast instead of just the sweets she had fed him earlier.

Christine caught herself in the mirror for a moment and stared. She had never considered herself interesting or beautiful, not once, til Erik made her feel as such. She hoped she could do the same for him.

☾ ☾ ☾

Erik’s mind was a railway cart set loose on a hill. It was the breaking of a bucket under constant strain or the collapse of a building on shaken earth. As his arousal stemmed, as the moment passed and he was alone with his thoughts, he realized that he had shared an intimate moment with Christine. It was unfathomable to him and he cringed at the thought of his beloved having to look on his face and ragged body. How could she have bared to touch him? His anxiety rose. Had he been too loud? Too eager? 

A flash of memory, that of asking his mother for a kiss, floated through his mind’s eye. His mother had never spoken directly to him. She always referred to him as if he weren’t there. He could still hear her remark at his request. _I have seen dogs less eager than Erik._

It wasn’t until he was much older that he realized that people don’t talk to others as if they weren’t there. He had never been spoken to….til he was an attraction at a wandering faire. 

But, Christine, his Christine, always spoke to him. She would often outright ignore his prose and way of speech. She never hid behind anything with him even going so far as to throw his mask in the fireplace. But, could that not change at the drop of a hat, too?

Erik’s mind floated back to her kisses in the bath, her touch, her unabashed perusal of _him._ To Erik, the thoughts and memory were titillating and it began to change his ever-unanswered question of himself. 

Was he really just a man? A man who could have wants and needs? A man who was desired? A man who had a duty to his wife? 

Erik stopped the thoughts of hope, a wave of _something_ crashing over him. Christine was not his wife, yet, here she was taking care of him, showing him affection, spending time with him…. **_under no duress!_ She was a soothing balm and the harsh tearing of a bandage. She was life and death and he reveled in her presence. **

If he had hair, he knew he would be tearing at it. In all the languages he spoke, he could not find a word befitting the emotion that came over him. It made his stomach flip and he clutched at his open shirt. As he leaned on the dresser, hands braced against it like a lifeline, Erik waited for the feeling to name itself. Why was Christine here? She said she loved him, but….

The evidence of her love, logically, stood out to him: caring for him, making sure he lived, staying with him, tending to his wounds, intimate moments….

Erik realized this feeling as what others would call gut instinct. His mind reeled at the idea that SOMEONE, ANYONE, could love him yet his intuition was telling him he was very much….loved. How could he ever be what Christine needed? He laughed mirthlessly to himself. Imagining a marriage to Christine was much easier than being on the precipice of the real thing. 

He was aware that, in his time on his own, he had romanticized the idea of marriage….glorifying it AND Christine to a point where both sat on a pedestal far above him. Unreachable. 

He didn’t want to bring Christine down by marrying him and he could not fathom raising himself up to stand equal with her. So, the idea of marriage….of a marriage with Christine….was always him kissing the hem of her skirts….to be a servant to her. 

What if she didn’t want that? Didn’t want him supplicating himself beneath her? What if she wanted him to pleasure her as she pleasured him? Like a husband would? 

Erik scolded himself, whipping his head to the side in aggravation for the direction of his thoughts. His lips slightly mouthed the words sprawling across his mind. She could never….

His mind wandered back to the memory of the bath. Her lips parted, her panting breath soft against his face, the way she moaned into their kisses, her ravenousness…. 

Could he be brave enough to be a true husband to Christine? Had he left her in need? 

He shook his head, impossible. _Christine…_.aroused from the experience of touching him? 

Maybe, if he were another man.

☾ ☾ ☾

Christine settled Erik in bed, covering him.

“Thank you, Christine.” 

Erik was bristling with nervousness. Christine had tucked him into her bed. Was she to sleep beside him? Would he be able to hold her and sink his horrid face into her hair? He tried not to let himself grow hopeful, but could not help the almost child-like excitement that pressed on his heart. 

“Where will you sleep, if Erik is here, in Christine’s bed?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

Christine graced him with her eyes. “I do not wish to disturb you, Erik. Um….” She tried to focus on her words and not the rising tears, “So, I will be out on the couch. If you need me, just call, I’ll be there.” 

She wanted nothing more than to dip under the covers beside him and curl into his side. Maybe he would hold her and drag his long fingers against her back as she drifted to sleep? Christine couldn’t explain why she felt so emotional, so jumpy, so on edge. She hated it. 

Erik wondered why she looked so sad. His mind reeled trying to fragment an answer together. Images of Christine rubbing her thighs together after his bath, her pressing and touching him, her delirious kisses. Was it true? Was it not only him who desired touch, but her as well? His heart thumped so hard in his chest he swore it felt flattened. As if a carriage wheel had run over it at full speed.

The answer was bright and lit like a torch in front of him. Yet, still, so many doubts lanced his mind. So many voices telling him he was unworthy, monstrous, disgusting. He just needed _something_ to tell him his instincts were true. 

He reached for her hand, his long fingers just catching the tips of her own satin skin. 

“Stay, Christine, the fire is tended here. Erik promises he does not take up too much room. But, he does not wish for you to be uncomfortable.” 

Christine stared at him, for a moment, as tears flooded her eyes at his gesture. 

“Are you sure, Erik? I won't bother you?” 

Erik shook his head, “Christine has never bothered Erik.” 

Erik watched as Christine nodded and stepped around the bed. He saw the tension in her shoulders as she quickly removed her dressing gown and pulled herself under the sheets.. He couldn’t help but feel a jolt in his loins at the sight of her stockinged ankles. 

He breathed steady as he felt the bed shift under her movement. Erik closed his eyes as he tried to prevent himself from watching her move. Her night-dress was long and thick. He had bought it for her to keep her warm. Oh, how he had longed to feel such fabric against his skin.

Erik knew he had to do something. But, he knew no way to go about it without bothering her. Was his face not a bridge no woman could cross? He couldn’t blame Christine for that. But, to do nothing was unthinkable. The moment would pass and he would never again have the bravery to act on his assumption that she wanted his touch. 

She found her comfort on her side facing away from him. He took in the curve of her hip a moment before moving his hand across the bed to touch her hair. He loved when she had it loose, but seeing it braided felt like the welcoming comfort of home for some reason. 

He found the texture of her hair between his fingers stimulating and held it for a moment. 

“Thank you, Christine, for not letting Erik die.” He had meant to say it hours ago. 

He heard her soft gasp and moved his hand away as she turned around to face him, laying on her stomach under the covers. Christine smiled at him. She took his hand where it rested against the bed and held it. Erik was on his side facing her, the sheets tucked under his arm. It was then he noticed his ring, the gold dancing under the firelight where it rested on her finger. He swore his heart stopped.

“You wear Erik’s ring! Why do you wear Erik’s ring!?” Christine recognized the shock in his voice and smiled gently. _Oh, Erik… He noticed._

“For the same reason I came back, Erik.”

He felt a small chill but ignored it as goosebumps rose on his skin. This was the push he needed. The instincts bubbling inside him were too powerful to ignore.

Christine must have noticed his shiver. She leaned forward and helped him draw the heavy fabric up. The action had brought her closer to him. He took the heated courage that had gathered in his groin and raised his arm to wrap around her waist. 

She paused, her hand falling to rest on his forearm. 

A wave of panic appeared and vanished quickly. A remnant of dormant insecurity. 

She looked down at him with an expression of muted delight. Was this Erik’s way of asking for her to be closer? She really wanted to oblige him.

She leaned down, and watched in awe as he rose up to meet her lips in a pleasant kiss. Christine almost laughed aloud. This felt like a wife kissing her husband goodnight. His kiss was tender and intentful. She reciprocated gracefully, not wanting to cause him too much strain. She settled down beside him and pulled the cover up over them both. 

She snuggled closer to him and tucked her face into his neck against the pillow. She placed a soft kiss there at the curve of his jaw, letting her body relax into his embrace.

It was then that she felt his hands beginning to wander over her back. The soft press of his digits into her body was pleasant. 

Too pleasant. 

She had not been touched. The fire and wetness between her legs was a dismissible distraction….til he was near. She wanted to react so badly, to push closer to him, to let out the soft whine that was bubbling in her throat. 

If only Erik knew that he had his own eroticism about him. His majesty and grace. His passion and mystique. So many more things that made her love him.

His hand wandered low over her back, rising just above the swell of her rear. She gasped and arched her torso closer to him. Her hand flexed into the fabric on his chest. 

He whispered her name into her ear, applying more pressure as his hands dipped lower still. Christine did not know what to do. He was touching her….he wanted to! A smile spread across her lips and she wrapped her arms around him. She wanted him to cup her rear. She wanted to feel how strong his hands were as he massaged that rounded flesh. 

Christine ran on pure instinct as she pushed her butt slightly into the tips of his hands.

She heard the sound of a noise like a growl rise in his throat as those wonderful digits of his groped at her rear, his thumbs pressing into the muscle. 

Oh! Christine did, indeed, desire his touch. He never imagined her to be so inclined to him. He let his hands wander up her back, pressing into her here and there. His love was softly moaning into his neck and he would do anything to prolong such a sound. 

He moved his hands back over her rear, and allowed his digits to press into the divide before finding her heated wetness.

Christine was intoxicated by his ministrations, all rationale leaving her at his persistent hands. As his fingers rubbed against the fabric over her folds, Christine collapsed into his neck, a keen whine escaping her as she raised her leg to bring him closer.

Using that as a guide, Erik moved his hands over her waist, pressing tenderly into her as his knuckle dragged over the sensitive underside of her breast through the fabric.

It was only as he began to tilt her slightly below him that she felt Erik’s heart in her ear, its rapid beat and his panting breaths. 

Erik’s hand moved to her breast, her back bowing to the onslaught of his touch. He kneaded it carefully and she moaned, getting distracted once more as he trapped her hardened nipple between two graceful fingers and tugged. She let out a cry of his name and Erik reveled in its chorus. Suddenly, she grabbed his hand where it rested against her.

“Stop. Wait.” She muttered, breathlessly. Erik automatically pulled away from her as fear dripped into his eyes. 

“Has Erik done something wrong?” His voice quivered. 

“No, Erik, not all.” She kissed him on the lips, immobile at her touch. “It’s just….you are still weak. We can wait. It’s enough that I know you want to.” She brought his hand back to her breast, signifying that her desire for him was real. 

Suddenly, a chill ran through the room as Erik’s eyes suddenly darkened. Christine could not help but see The Phantom in such a look and was surprised at the pulse that made itself known over her clit. He settled in beside her, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her.

“Erik is able enough to pleasure you.” 

Christine gasped into him as his lips met hers. 

He let his hands grace over the swell of her hip and he fought the need to hiss in pleasure. The sensation of her flesh under his fingers as he pushed her linen shift up sent a flare of heat down his spine. He was sore now, the tiredness gone. But, he had strength to show the woman brave enough to love him that he loved her in return. Christine squirmed in embarrassment and arousal. She had put on no under things, choosing to forgo them as all the ones she had here were dusty or drying.

Her core throbbed as his long graceful fingers rubbed the crease between hip and thigh….waiting. Christine cooed into Erik’s mouth, giving him permission to continue. He only hesitated a moment more before allowing his fingers to thread through the downy thatch of curls above her entrance, kneading the soft flesh there. Christine moaned deliciously into his kiss and he reveled in her gestures.

He was so close. Those spindly-fingers of his drew across her skin and teased her. She rubbed the raised part of his chest, feeling the tendons in his neck with her fingers. He tipped her body beneath him, forcing her leg over his hip, before sliding his fingers up her folds, dipping into her skin. She broke their kiss with a cry. 

“My love, gods, you are soaked.” Erik winced under the onslaught of such a revelation. The evidence of her desire coated his fingers, thickly. Christine gasped into his neck, the pressure relieving and reviving that delicious ache. 

She pulled her face away from him. Her fingers rose to follow the line in his throat as he hovered slightly above her. She met his eyes, fearful of his judgement at her obvious desire. 

“Is that so - ah! - bad, Erik?” His tentative fingers had begun slipping through her folds as she spoke, spreading her wetness. She lost focus on her words.

“No.” He growled, a jolt of arousal causing his member to twitch. He had never dreamed of seeing the heavy-lidded face of pleasure on Christine’s honeyed cheeks. Never. He would do _anything_ if it meant it would make her happy. 

The teasing dips of his fingers into her core were driving her mad. They weren’t enough and she mewled her frustration. Christine was shocked as Erik’s hesitant touches grew more solid. 

“Erik---oh!--please!” She hitched her leg higher on his hip, opening herself up to him as his fingers delved into her, his thumb tapping against that pearl of nerves. Christine let out a sharp cry of his name into his ear. He worried for a moment that he might have hurt her. But, such a thought was derailed as she bucked her hips against his hand and took to sucking at the skin of his neck. 

He began moving in slow circles, feeling that hard bud throbbing beneath his thumb, as he looked for a motion she liked.

Christine moaned heavenly, the sound breaking on a keen as Erik found a spot within her. The motion of her hips followed unabashedly to his ministrations. 

Erik gazed down at her as his eyes followed the dips and lines of her body. He watched as her eyes closed and lips parted. He grabbed at the sheets below her head, sinking his nails into them as Christine’s legs parted and hips moved faster. She was as ravenous in her movements as she was in her kisses and Erik was filled with nothing but thoughts of her. 

Christine fell into the sensations that he stirred within her as his fingers swirled. Her back arched as the pleasure began to rise uncontrolled, clenching at the pillow below her and chanting Erik’s name on breathless waves. She never knew that her soft-spoken, erratic Angel, her love, was capable of pulling such sounds from her body. She reveled in this forbidden pleasure, this power that flowed through her. 

She saw his face in her mind, her eyes too heavy to keep them open to watch him. But, she could see him. The sharp line of his jaw and the scars that ran along them. The look of focus and love. The high cheekbones and broken nose bridge. The outright perusal to make her happy as plain as the sun on a summer day. She forced her eyes open to meet him as he tucked his face into her neck to kiss at her throat, to make her feel as much as he was capable.

These feelings were new and overwhelming and while a part of her conscious self wanted to restrain her, she ignored it. She knew it was vital to be honest, truthful, in such moments of vulnerability. Erik and her deserved that of each other. 

Erik’s own hips couldn’t help but mimic the same rhythm his fingers drummed out. He wished for nothing more than to be inside her at that moment; to feel that warm wet heat for himself. 

He ignored that desire, and focused on her. Christine liked intent: touches that didn’t hesitate but encouraged, he noticed. 

Christine let out a sharp cry and wrapped her arms around him as she approached her peak. Her hands cupped the back of his head to press his thin lips into her throat. Erik welcomed the slightly salty taste of the perspiration of her skin. 

Erik was only a man, after all, and smiled, possessively, as he tasted the creams on her skin. It was the creams he had gifted her so long ago. She had put them on tonight. They were a gift, his own mating ritual, a display that he was capable of being a good husband. Would this prove that too? 

Christine was all but wrapped around him; their bodies moving together in a mimic of love-making. Their motions had exposed her torso and her full breasts had begun to rub through the silk at his chest. Her risen nipples a delicious pressure against his delicate skin. 

He dipped down, kissing at them, lost as the sound of his name grew louder. He took a peak into his mouth and felt her cry out a plea for more. He pressed harder against her clit, moving in circles as his fingers rubbed at the spot inside her. 

“Erik! Please! I-I’m so close.” She clutched at his back and neck pulling him closer to her breasts.

“Christine….my love….let go….give into me, my Angel, please.” He panted out.

It was the hoarse sound of his voice rippling through her that pushed her over the edge; an all encompassing warmth that spread through her. It blinded her, and blotted out all but the smooth tones of the man she loved bringing her joy. The pleasure rippled over her body like scales on a piano and dimmed only as his fingers slowed. 

Erik had never seen a sight any more enthralling than that of her back bowed, her head tilted as she floated through her climax. He was achingly hard, almost painful at the sight of it. It only took the slight brush of her inner thigh against him to tip him over into that cascade of color and senses. A high-pitched groan slipping from his mouth. 

She brought him as close as she could, forbidding him from moving away from her. He gently removed his fingers from her, bringing her nightgown down over her legs as his hand moved up to lay against the side of her face. She rubbed her knees against his hips and gazed at him adoringly, looking for his hesitant eyes. 

He worried for a moment if she would reject him now once the haze of arousal was gone. He was still that decrepit man without a face. 

He reminded her of a stunned deer. She reached up and petted over his exposed scalp. The scrape of her nails, a delicious pressure. He bowed his head closer to her, unbidden. 

He looked up at her in shock as she nuzzled into his skeletal hand. 

Erik’s madness had its limits and he was aware enough to know that the smile that brightened her face was meant for him and him alone. 

Christine adored what she saw. His pale skin, almost grey sometimes, was flecked with color and his ears were practically glowing. He looked so surprised. She rubbed at his ears gently to bring him back from his thoughts. 

“Where are you, Erik?” She said calmly as she kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“In my own head, thinking this is a dream.” 

Christine recognized, then, that he had dropped the third-person speaking. She wondered if it was the intimacy that brought that out in him. She reveled in his sense of self. 

“It is no dream. This felt too good to be a dream.” A wave of self-consciousness drew over her like a blanket as she realized her breasts were still exposed to the cool night air. 

“You are too good to your Erik, Christine.” Erik noticed her tensing, and the brief glance downward toward herself. 

A remnant of bravery drifted across his soul and Erik bent towards her chest, nuzzling the rounded flesh with his lips, bestowing kisses where he saw fit to assure her. 

“I love you….” Christine waited for a response and laughed lightly as Erik sank into her breasts and buried his face there. She had always felt self-conscious about their size. But, now, with her love burrowing himself into them she realized she no longer held such qualms. 

“I love you, so much, my Christine.” 

Christine had noticed the shiver that ran through him when she massaged his ears or dragged her fingers over his scalp and so began to pursue those motions again. She had tasted intimacy and was ill at the thought of returning to any form of stoicism. So, she watched as her Phantom settled into her body, his hips and knees relaxing to lay between her legs as he rested against her chest. 

She looked down at him and enjoyed the view of his long, elegant body against hers. A sleepy thrill rushing through her. She yawned and pulled him closer, settling in herself as her eyelids drew heavy. 

  
The last gift her subconsciousness bestowed upon before descending into darkness was a memory...that of a gloved hand under candlelight and the smell of verbena. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Refers to Christine's thoughts in the last line of the first paragraph of this chapter.


End file.
